


Finding His Unicorn

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Dean's slightly less of an alcoholic, Double stripper au, Graphic abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Med student!Cas, Stripper AU, Stripper!Dean, barmaid!charlie, destiel au, he and charlie are bros, strip club au, stripper!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5360501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a stripper at a bisexual club called The Unicorn. He's recovering from the death of his girlfriend Lisa and the loss of his son Ben when high-and-mighty med student Castiel Novak walks in one night. While they dislike each other at first, they start to change each other's worlds...maybe even for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As usual, Dean took a deep breath in before entering the painfully bright neon lights and glitter-covered floors that filled The Unicorn. The strip club’s cheesy name referred to the fact that most people saw bisexuals (to whom the club catered) as being mythical creatures, something like a unicorn. This always kinda pissed Dean off. Not that he was bi, but have a little respect, you know?

Dean finished preparing himself, swung open the door and stepped inside. He flinched slightly at the sudden roar of the audience and deafening pop music blaring over the PA system. Dean pulled his bag close to his body and walked quickly toward the back. The girl dancing onstage gave him a flirty wave, and he nodded back. Brittany, with her bleach-blonde hair and surgery-enhanced lips, wasn’t exactly his style. But then again, no one really had been since Lisa died eighteen months ago, leaving her infant son Ben behind. Dean had tried desperately to adopt him, but Social Services frowned upon a male stripper taking custody of a child for some reason.

Dean finally made it backstage, into a cloud of cigarette fog and gossip. Girls smeared on mascara and lipstick while guys plucked their eyebrows and rubbed on oil. Boas fluttered through the air, scattering feathers everywhere, and of course glitter was an omnipotent accessory.

“Hey, Amos,” said Max, using Dean’s stage name. None of the strippers shared their real names for safety reasons. “You up for beers tonight?” He was already dressed in loose sweats and a skintight t-shirt, with his hair spiked up high.

“Sure, man,” Dean said. “Give me a chance to get ready.” Max nodded and walked off to chat up a pretty girl curling her hair who went by Chastity. Dean pulled off his street clothes and tossed them in a heap onto the floor. He grabbed his stage clothes from where they were folded in a cubby neatly and put them on untidily, then went over to Maxine, the club’s makeup artist.

A former stripper, Maxine had been kept on because a lot of the guys had no idea how to apply makeup, and some of the younger girls weren’t very talented. Although Dean had been stripping for long enough to know his way around cosmetics, he usually had Maxine do his makeup at least once a week so that he could check up on her.

Dean sat down, and she asked in her raspy smoker’s voice, “How you doing, honey?”

She brushed bronzer onto Dean’s face and blush over his cheekbones as he answered, “Fine, Maxine. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, ‘bout the same as usual. I spend a lotta time thanking God that some of the boys are too uncomfortable ‘bout being called faggots to learn how to put on eyeliner.”

Her laugh quickly dissolved into a cough, and Dean shifted in his chair to see if she was all right. “Hey! You stay where you are, pretty boy. I don’t got time to redo your makeup before the show.”

Dean smiled slightly, and she said, “Whatcha grinning about? Got a new lovely lady with ya?”

“No,” Dean said.

Maxine noticed the pain in his voice and said, “I’m real sorry ‘bout that Lisa gal. She was one of the good ones. Open your eyes for me.”

Dean did so. “That she was,” he said gruffly. “It’s getting a little better. Been a year and a half, after all.”

Maxine nodded and finished his mascara with a delicate flick of the wrist. “They’re always gonna tell ya that you should get over it already. I think you should take as much time as you need. I’m all done for tonight, honey.”

“Thanks, Maxine,” Dean said, standing up.

“Thanks to Candy for that deliciously _sweet_ routine,” the intercom said. “Now give it up for Amos, the best cowboy in Kansas. Tonight he’s not roping cattle, but all of you!”

Dean rolled his eyes and parted the curtain. He strutted out to the tune of “Wanted Dead or Alive.” As usual, he started out by rolling his hips and rubbing against the pole, then tossing his cowboy hat into the crowd. A drunken bridesmaid screeched and snatched it from the air. Dean thrust at her briefly, the dancing mostly mechanical by this point. Even though he didn’t do the cowboy routine every night, it always made Dean snicker a little to think of how much he was costing the club in hats.

As he swung around the pole and let his boots click against the glittery stage, Dean’s eyes roved over the crowd. Always important to make that one person think you were stripping just for them. He tuned out the screams and thought about whether to have pizza or burgers for breakfast. Just when he had almost decided on burgers, he happened to see a man at the very back of the crowd scribbling on a notepad.

 _FUCK no_. Only Dean’s professionalism stopped him from storming over to the guy right then. Sure, strip clubs weren’t the most virtuous of places, but maybe instead of writing up material for getting off later, the guy could focus on the strippers who were working hard to make everybody happy? And talk about invasion of privacy. Dean grew progressively more furious as he continued dancing and the guy kept on taking notes, glancing up from time to time to check out Dean’s body.

The song wound down to a close. Dean finished his routine and stepped off the stage with a last shake of his hips. He headed straight for the guy in the last row of chairs. As Dean came closer, the guy hurriedly tucked his notebook under his arm and offered his hand to Dean.

“Hello,” he said.

Dean pushed his hand away aggressively. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean snarled. “I know everyone thinks that strippers don’t have any dignity, but you could at least do us the courtesy of not taking jerk-off notes!”

“What?” the guy asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. Dean pointed to the notebook under his arm. “Oh. No, those are notes for my pre-med paper. I need human subjects to observe.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to look confused. “You’re in The Unicorn to take notes for pre-med?”

“Yes. Stripping is most likely the occupation that is most taxing to the human body. I’m studying its impact on both males and females, and I was hoping to get a few interviews about injuries. I don’t believe stripping is too moral, but I need this project to get into medical school. Do you know of anyone to whom I could speak?”

Dean snorted. “Look,” he said. “I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you’re just some misguided college fresher looking to help the world a little. Take what you’ve got and get out. No one here wants to talk to you, and I promise that there’s nothin’ that’s gonna change that.”

The man looked uncomfortable. “Well, I can’t exactly leave…”

Dean was about to get a little more physical when the PA boomed, “And now, please welcome Professor Novak to the stage for a little one-on-one tutoring!”

“That’s my cue,” the man said. His eyes looked nervous, and Dean noticed for the first time how blue they were. He straightened his tie and strode toward the stage. Dean stared at his back in disbelief.  _Didn’t believe stripping was moral, huh?_

Kesha’s “Blow” began pounding over the speakers, and the man took his place on the stage. He wore a white button-up shirt with khakis and a blue patterned tie, and his black hair was neatly combed to the side. Clearly the manager had decided to aim for the naughty schoolteacher look with this one. As Dean watched, the man ran his hand through his hair and turned slowly to allow the audience a good look at his body. Then he began moving sensuously around the pole.

Dean’s eyebrows went up as the man’s routine continued. He was a little stiff, but he had rhythm, something that most newbies took a long time to put together. He also had great legs, which was becoming rarer and rarer in a strip club environment dominated by gym rats. Maybe he was a runner? Dean had always been a leg man. But the guy was both a morally righteous hypocrite and...well, a guy. Dean wasn’t going anywhere near that.

The man finished his routine and walked off the stage. Instantly, he was propositioned by both men and women waving bills in his face. He blushed and gently pushed them away, then made his way back to Dean.

“I feel as though we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said. “My name is Castiel Novak.”He held out his hand again.

Dean looked him up and down. He was dressed only in tight black boxers and a tie and was covered with a light sheen of sweat. As Dean stared at him, Castiel seemed to remember what he looked like. He blushed even more deeply and took a robe from the nook near them that was usually used for strippers who wanted to cover up a little before heading to the private rooms.

Dean cleared his throat. The guy seemed to be making an honest effort, and he didn’t want to become the asshole by refusing it.

“I’m Amos,” he said, taking Castiel’s hand. It was soft, but had a few calluses, unlike the hands of most strippers.

“Doesn’t seem like the right name for you,” Castiel said, still holding Dean’s hand.

“Well, it’s not,” Dean said. “It’s my stage name, not my real one. There isn’t a stripper alive who’d use their actual name in a club.” Without knowing why he was doing it, he said, “My real name is Dean.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, seeming to savor the word.

Dean instantly regretted what he’d done. He dropped Castiel’s hand and backed away quickly. “Well, I’m going out, so I guess I’ll see you.” He walked quickly toward the stage to grab his stuff.

“My name really is Castiel,” the man called after him.

“Change it,” Dean answered without turning. “It isn’t safe.”

Behind him, he heard the sounds of Castiel settling in to continue taking notes. He glanced back at the man, then cursed himself for doing it and focused on the night ahead. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a boys' night out, and his friend Charlie manages to convince him to be a little nicer to Castiel Novak. Dean does so grudgingly until he actually has a...nice conversation with Cas?

Dean joined Mike at the door. With him was a gaggle of guys Dean either barely knew or was only sort of friends with. He didn’t have many people in his life that he was close to besides Sam, his brother, who was in his last year of law school at Stanford. Dean missed him, but was also fiercely proud of him and had told all of his stripper buddies about him. If anyone else had said that they had a kid lawyer for a brother, the guys would have blown him off. But Dean was different. While he wasn’t the cream of the crop, he was unshakably honest, and most people trusted him.

 

“Hey, man,” Mike said. “You ready?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, hefting his bag over his shoulder. He pushed the thought of Castiel out of his head.

 

The group walked outside and a few doors down to a bar called Sully’s. For a downtown, bad-side-of-the-tracks bar, it was pretty decent. Mike always told new guys that it was, “Good booze and good times at a good price.” The first time Dean had gone, as a nervous stripper barely old enough to drink, the barmaid had helped him and been kind to him, and he’d managed to relax into the atmosphere of the bar after a while.

 

They walked in under the soft glow of the lamps hanging from the ceiling and settled at one of the tall wooden stools at the bar. Elvis played over the speakers hidden discreetly in the brick alcoves. The bar was reasonably quiet, with only a few people scattered around at the tables.

 

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean said, grinning at the barmaid who’d been reading Ray Bradbury behind the counter.

 

“Should’ve known you’d stumble in at some point, Amos,” she said with a smile, dog-earing her page and standing up. “What can I get you tonight?’

 

Charlie was the same barmaid who’d been there when Dean started stripping. They’d become friends and she’d helped him through Lisa’s death. She was clever and acerbically funny, managing to get Dean to laugh even when he felt like his world was falling apart.

 

Dean had told her his real name one night after he had found out that she was taking college courses in programming during the day and “being Captain Alcohol, savior of the sober” by night. Out of politeness, she used his stripper name around his friends.

 

He’d gotten extremely drunk once and tried to ask her out, only to be told, “Dean-o, you know I love you, but I’m very, very gay. Send any girl friends my way, though.” He’d laughed and fallen off a stool, and Charlie helped him home. Since then, he’d been on the lookout, but none of the girls at The Unicorn seemed much like Charlie’s type.

 

“Beers tonight, please,” he said. She grabbed a few from the fridge and placed them down in front of the group. Mike laid down some cash and she slipped it into the till. The guys dispersed, and Dean asked, “How’s the college life?”

 

Charlie sighed and set her book to the side. “Same old, same old. I’m trying to get this program started to facilitate donations to those in need, especially LGBT kids. Sort of like an online ‘My Neighbor in Need’ thing. But the campus keeps blocking me on it.”

 

“Talked to Ash yet?” Dean asked, taking a gulp of his beer.

 

“He’s working on it. My classes are going well, though. You still coming to graduation?”

 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think Sammy might be able to make it too.”

 

Charlie smiled. “I’d love to meet him. He sounds like a great guy.”

 

“He really is,” Dean said. He swallowed nearly half his bottle, and Charlie said, “Hey, maybe slow down a little?”

 

“You’re right,” Dean said. He pushed his drink away. He hadn’t told Charlie about how heavy his drinking had gotten after Lisa, but he’d found an Alcoholics Anonymous pamphlet in his bag one night when he’d gotten home. The writing on the inside cover read, _Not trying to force you into anything, but maybe give it a shot. Love, Charlie._ Her phone number was scribbled inside too. He had considered it, then tried a few meetings. He’d been doing a hell of a lot better since then.

 

“Any reason why you’re chugging tonight?” Charlie said, edging the drink a little farther away from him.

 

“Some asshole named Castiel just started at the club,” Dean said. “He’s a self-righteous med student who’s more focused on taking notes than taking off his clothes.”

 

“Is he any good?” Charlie said absentmindedly. She turned on the tap to get herself a glass of water and sighed as Mike laughed uproariously in the back of the bar. “Hey, Mike! Turn it down a little!” Mike nodded back politely and continued at the same volume.

 

Dean pushed out an irritated sigh. “Unfortunately, he has a nice body and good rhythm. A little stiff, but he’ll get over that quickly. Gorgeous eyes. Nothing to hate physically, just the personality.”

 

Charlie’s eyebrows flicked upward quickly. Dean never complimented strippers. Usually when she asked, he’d say, “He’s okay,” or “She’s all right.” She sipped her water and turned back to Dean.

 

“So what’d he do to you?” She leaned onto the counter, trying to be casual, but wondering about the guy who’d impressed Dean so much.

 

“Uh, I thought he was taking notes during my routine, but it turns out they were just medical notes.” Dean thought for a second. “Oh yeah, he called stripping immoral! Guy’s a hypocritical douchebag.”

 

Charlie coughed and muttered, “Sounds more like you’re bi.”

 

“What?” Dean asked.

 

“Nothing,” Charlie answered quickly. “It just seems more like he threw you one insult, probably not even knowing that it would offend you, and you’ve resolved to hate him forever.”

 

“Okay,” Dean sighed. “I’ll try to play nice.”

 

Charlie smiled. “That sounds better. Now, let me tell you about what Eliza said to me…” She and Dean laughed together for a few more minutes, then Dean pushed his stool back.

 

“I’m going to go check on the guys. Nice to see you, Charlie.”

 

“Same to you, Dean.” Charlie crossed her fingers under the table in the hopes that Dean and this Cas guy would get together at some point.

 

Dean strode over to Mike’s table, where he was regaling everyone with a story about the time he’d fallen off a skateboard in third grade: “And so there I am, bleeding everywhere, and all she’s got is a flowery headband, so we have to go to the hospital while I’m holding my stomach in with something that could double for a fancy napkin.”

 

The group laughed, and Mike said, “Pull up a chair, Amos.” Dean did so, and a relatively new guy named Don started up from the back, “Got any good stripper stories, Mike?”

 

“I’ve been in the biz so long that I can’t remember them all,” Mike said cheerfully.

 

Raphael said from a corner of the table, “Could always talk about the newbies. Candy’s looking good out there.”

 

“That Mary-Ann looks like she’s shaping up to be pretty decent,” another guy chimed in.

 

Balthazar shook his head. “Gentlemen, I think we’re forgetting someone very important. A certain blue-eyed sexbomb?”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “We haven’t gotten in any blue-eyed girls for a while, unless you count Lillith.”

 

“I wasn’t referring to a girl, Amos. I’m speaking of Castiel Novak, our resident professor.”

 

Mike laughed. “Leave it to you to bring him up.”

 

“As if I’m the only one here interested in men. And you can’t deny that he’s gorgeous.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t even believe in stripping -- he’s just here for a med school project.”

 

Balthazar smiled at Dean in a predatory way and took a small sip of his scotch. “And how do you know so much about him, Dean?”

 

“I asked because he was taking notes, Balthazar,” Dean snapped back aggressively, swigging his beer. “I’m trying to keep the perverts away from all of you.”

 

“No need to get feisty,” Balthazar said, leaning back in his chair. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve claimed him.” His eyes glowed in the faint lamplight, making him look faintly catlike.

 

“I don’t like guys,” Dean said angrily. “And you know about Lisa.” He finished off his beer.

 

Even Balthazar knew that he’d gone too far. “My apologies, Dean.”

 

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “I’m gonna go grab another beer. Anyone else up for another round?” He took orders and got the drinks from Charlie, who advised him to calm down after seeing the tightness of his jaw.

 

He returned to the table and passed out the drinks. Football was now the main topic of discussion, and Dean fell easily into arguing about favorite players and teams. By the time Charlie came over to tell them the bar was closing, Dean wasn’t even thinking about Castiel anymore.

 

He drove home in the Impala, his glossy black car. No matter how tight on money Dean was, he always found the cash to keep her looking nice and running well. He pulled up to his apartment complex and parked, then got out and entered his apartment. He flicked on the lights for long enough to toe off his shoes and run a toothbrush around his mouth. He switched the lights off again and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

 

Dean had a long shift the next day, so he prayed for decent sleep. Surprisingly, he got it.

 

\----

 

The next day he worked a few hours at the body shop, then showered and headed to The Unicorn. He was early tonight, and there were only a few strippers there. Dean slipped on the clothes for his first routine. When he turned around, Castiel was there.

  


“Uh, hi,” Castiel said, looking uncomfortable. “Could you show me where my clothes might be?”

 

Dean was about to blow him off, then remembered Charlie’s advice. “Sure, man.” He walked Castiel over to the cubbies and pointed to the one with his name on it. “They’ll put whatever they want you to wear tonight in there. We have weekly meetings where they lay out a kind of schedule and themes for everyone, but other than that you’ve pretty much got free rein over your routine. Our next meeting is tomorrow night.”

 

He watched as Castiel pulled out a pair of sparkly pale blue panties, tight leather pants, a pair of black boots with slight heels, and a flowy white top. Castiel looked confused, and Dean said, “I think they’re going for something more old-fashioned here. Think Three Musketeers and dashing knights with a twist.” He smirked at the panties, trying to ignore the thought of how Castiel would look in them.

 

Castiel nodded. “I can do that.” He removed his clothes in front of Dean unabashedly and dressed again in the costume.

 

“So, do you have any...hobbies?” he asked Dean awkwardly.

 

“Besides stripping? I love cars, Game of Thrones, football, you know.” Dean walked with Castiel to a couch where he could sit down. Dean knew from experience that any kind of heel would kill calf muscles and toes, and it was better to be sitting down for as long as possible before performing.

 

“How about you?”

 

Cas smiled faintly. “Besides medical school? I like poetry and art. I recently got into Star Wars, and, this’ll sound weird, beekeeping.” He blushed.

 

“Beekeeping, huh?” Dean asked. “Tell me more.”

 

Castiel smiled and launched into an exhaustive explanation of every aspect of beekeeping. Dean listened and found himself liking the guy a lot more. He reminded Dean a little of Sam -- deeply passionate about the things he loved.

 

When Castiel finished, Dean asked, “How is medical school treating you?”

 

“Reasonably well,” Castiel said. “I’m looking forward to being able to get out in the real world and help others, though.”

 

“I understand,” Dean said. “Sometimes the grind wears on you.”

 

Castiel nodded solemnly, then said, “I apologize for talking so much about myself. You said that you like cars?” Dean bobbed his head. “I know nothing about cars.” His grin transformed his face from ‘high-and-mighty med student’ to ‘happy kid.’

 

Dean explained a little bit about what he did, then said, “I’d like to own my own shop someday.” He blinked in confusion. He’d never told anyone but Sam about that, but there was something about Castiel that made him want to open up.

 

“That’s great,” Castiel said. “Maybe I could provide health care for the accidents your cars will cause.”

  
Dean laughed. He told Castiel about Sam, and Castiel told him about his brother Gabriel, who was in culinary school in California and apparently quite the prodigy. They talked about working at the strip club and the other strippers, and Dean gave Castiel advice about who to avoid. Castiel gave Dean advice about places to eat on a medical student's budget, which worked well for Dean. The two talked until the PA said: "Please welcome the twink of your dreams, Amos, to the stage!"

 

Dean stood up. "That's my cue."

 

Castiel stood up too. "It was nice to talk to you tonight, Dean."

 

Dean smiled. "Good to talk to you too, Cas."

 

Cas tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, and Dean stammered, "Uh, sorry. I can -- I won't call you that, sorry."

 

"I don't mind," Castiel answered. They locked eyes for a moment until the PA said, "Let's welcome him nice and loud!" in a tone that Dean recognized as actually meaning  _Dean, get your ass out here._

 

Dean waved goodbye to Cas awkwardly and stepped onstage. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explains how Dean got into stripping and shows his healing process after John and then Lisa. It does contain some graphic scenes of abuse, so please do not read if that triggers you.

Tonight felt different. Normally, Dean didn't mind dancing too much. It was just a way to earn a few extra bucks. Sure, he hadn't started out in the healthiest way. He had begun stripping after his abusive-as-all-hell father had stopped feeding Sammy. Dean knew that he wouldn't amount to much, but Sam? The kid was going places. You could see it in his eyes and the bright and earnest way he carried himself. Dean had barely been able to stand watching the bounce fade out of Sam's step and the light dim in his eyes as he grew older and spent more time with John. The man went out and got thoroughly drunk nearly every night after their mother had died, and he came home and screamed at Sam until Sam was shaking in the corner. Dean had stepped in as often as he could. He had the cigarette burns, bruises, and scars to prove it. 

But the blood and pain didn't matter, so long as Sam was safe. Nothing mattered if Sam was safe.

But Dean couldn't be there every time, and he knew some days that John hurt Sam with more than just words. He'd seen the scars on Sam too, in places where no one would ever find the marks.

Dean would have run straight away, but he and Sam both had a misplaced love for their father that Dean couldn't completely shake, even to this day. But when Sam stopped eating so that John could keep drinking, something in Dean shattered. He'd gone and interviewed at a club (not the Unicorn, but a shady little place downtown), lying and saying that he was eighteen. He didn't know how they'd believed him. He didn't look anywhere near eighteen. But maybe the club just hadn't cared, because they hired him. So his illustrious career had begun.

A month later, he'd come home in the early  hours of the morning to find Sam lying in front of the television, staring blankly at a screen of static, while John lay passed out on an armchair. Bits of broken bottles were scattered around the room, and the fire had gone out. Sam's shirt was speckled with dark spots. Dean had knelt down and pulled Sam's shirt up gently, afraid of what he would find. There were angry wounds with blood still seeping from them and tiny shards of glass embedded in Sam's skin as well as long burns that matched the pattern of the poker.

Sam had looked up at him hopelessly. "He said Mom was my fault, Dean. I deserve it."

Dean, too angry to speak, had taken Sam's hand and run upstairs. He had packed a bag, tossing in clothes and food and cash as quickly as he could, while Sam had sat obedient and unmoving. Then he had grabbed Sam and run out of the house and down the dark streets. 

He had been fifteen. Sam had just turned eleven. 

They'd slept in a homeless shelter that first night. The woman at the front desk hadn't asked any questions. She'd just taken one look at them and shown them the bathroom. She gave Dean some bandages and helped him clean Sam up, then helped them both into bed. As Sam crawled under the sheets, she told Dean that if he needed anything, she'd be right down the hall. 

Dean teared up just thinking about that woman. She'd kept them safe when they needed it most.

The next day, the shelter had provided a car and someone to drive them to Bobby's place. As they began driving, Dean glanced behind them and saw the familiar outline of his father's cheap second car -- a pickup truck. He'd been so afraid that he'd just whimpered, but the man from the shelter who was driving had looked back and seemed to understand. He had pushed the pedal to the ground, and they'd peeled away from Dean's father. 

A minute later, Dean had looked back just in time to see his father's car plow into a lamppost. He hadn't said a word as he watched his father become engulfed in flames, just turned around and looked forward. 

They were safe. 

And they had been safe. Bobby had taken care of them and sent them both to school. Dean couldn't deny that they were both a little fucked up after that, but with Bobby they got better. Bobby had healed Sam and taken them both to a therapist. A nice one, too, not any of that "just believe in yourself" mumbo-jumbo. The woman had put them both on medication for depression and anxiety. Dean was able to go off of his after a year with a doctor's approval. Sam still took his Zoloft to this day, and Dean had blamed himself for that at first. But Bobby, and later Lisa, had helped him through the roughest times. And of course Sam had always been there.

Sam went off to college, and Dean had started stripping again a year or so after getting together with Lisa. She hadn't mind. She'd seemed to understand that it was a way for him to find closure and rewrite the worst times with someone who could help him make them better. 

That hadn't stopped him from being scared out of his wits to perform again. Luckily, Charlie had been there, and some of the guys had made him feel comfortable. He'd found another home. 

Then Lisa had died, and Dean had had to remake his world all over again. 

As always, Sam and Bobby carried him through it, and Charlie and Ash and some of the strippers were there too. It got better. 

But he'd had a lot of pain in the past, and some days it flared up again. 

Tonight wasn't one of those days. He felt... _good_ tonight. Like his performance might mean something to someone. 

So Dean's movements weren't as practiced as usual. He moved with passion and fire and strength. He danced submissively, but he danced in defiance of everything that could tear him down. When he stepped off the stage, he felt confident and powerful. 

Mike walked over and gave him a nod of appreciation. "Good job tonight." 

Dean nodded back and said, "Thanks."

He went backstage again to settle down a little and Cas came up to him.

"That was amazing, Dean," he said softly. "You have a true talent."

Dean couldn't stop himself from blushing, even though he wasn't sure why. "Thanks," he said gruffly. 

"Er," Cas said, looking uncomfortable and fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves. "I don't mean to be pushy, but I think you could very much excel in ballet. There are some auditions I know of in a few months."

Dean's eyebrows went up so quickly that he could have sworn he pulled a facial muscle. Old memories resurfaced painfully, and Dean pushed them back down. "Excuse me?"

"Or instead," Cas said hurriedly, "you could give me a little help with dancing?"

Dean stopped to consider the idea. Not the ballet, he'd been down that road before, but the lessons. He still didn't know Cas very well, but he was willing to try to get to know him better.

"Sure," he said finally. 

Cas's face lit up with an enormous smile. "Thanks so much. I know there's something I'm doing wrong, but I can't pin down what it is."

Dean nodded. "You're not bad, just a little stiff in your movements. Here, we can plan out some lessons after tomorrow's meeting. I need to prep for my next routine."

"Okay," Cas said easily. He headed off, and Dean wondered if maybe Cas was the person he was dancing for that night. 


End file.
